The smile on Max’s face froze while the rest of the table fell silent. “Jason, don’t . . . I already know she’s here for the money. I knew that from day one. And I’m not jobless because I’m stupid . . . I just want to do something . . . you know what, never mind.”

Jason opened his mouth but was elbowed by Colt.

What was going on? What were they talking about? Of course I’d told him the truth, I was there for the money, but now it was more. He had to know that! And why were his so-called friends acting like parents? So what if he wasn’t working?

Reid sauntered up to the table, followed by Hades.

“Aw, you’re like a mama bird with her little chick,” Max teased.

Reid ignored Max and sat down at the table, pouring himself a large glass of wine before saying, “Whatever you do, do not pick that Grumpy chick.”

“My roommate?” I asked.

“Dude . . .” Reid swallowed. “Okay, confession time, remember how I had to bribe a few people to be on staff here? Well, my old theater coach is friends with the producer, and one of my jobs is to”—he turned a bit red—“flirt with the contestants who don’t get as much attention, so that they’ll be happy and then more confident around Max.”

The table fell silent.

Max burst out laughing. “Holy shit, you’re my fluffer!”

Reid’s eyes widened. “I am no such thing!”

“What’s a fluffer?” Milo asked.

Colt groaned and laid his head on the table.

Jason coughed and looked away.

Max grinned. “I’m so glad you asked, Milo. I may reinstate our friendship based on that question alone. A fluffer is . . . wow, how do I put this sensitively?” Max pressed his fingertips to his lips. “Oh, right, in the porn industry there are certain . . . individuals . . .” He squirmed in his seat a bit.

“Who,” Colt said from his muffled position against the table, “help.”

“Yes.” Max snapped his fingers. “They help . . . excite the actors.”

“Excite?” Milo squinted in confusion. “Like they cheer them on?”

When all the guys groaned, Milo winked in my direction. I loved that girl. No wonder she was Max’s best friend.

“Yeah,” I joined in. “I don’t get it either.”

“Shrimp me.” Max raised his hand and Jason passed the shrimp.

“So the daddy shrimp”—Max picked up one of the crunchy brown delicacies—“sometimes isn’t as turned on by the mama shrimp.” He nodded to Colt, who picked up another shrimp, that one a bit plumper.

“So”—Colt swore—“in order to aid in the excitement, a third party . . .” He eyed Jason.

“Hell.” Jason picked up the third shrimp and cleared his throat. “The third-party shrimp comes onto the scene to . . .” His shrimp jumped between the other two. “Help.”

“In a sexual way,” Max explained in a low voice. “Jason’s shrimp gets Colt’s shrimp hot for my shrimp and—boom! Orgasmic experience that er . . . produces . . .”

“Cocktail sauce!” Milo blurted, clapping her hands.

“Oh. Hellfire and rainbows.” Max stared longingly at the shrimp. “You just ruined one of my favorite foods.”

“Thanks, guys. I think I get it now.” Milo sighed. “So should we start to talk to the other girls?”

“Yes.” Colt dropped the shrimp and grabbed the entire bottle of wine. “Lead the way.”

Everyone dispersed but Max and me.

“So . . .” Max dipped his shrimp into the sauce and took a huge bite. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” I laughed.

“Does my shrimp get you saucy?”

I dipped my finger in the sauce and licked it off slowly. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Max groaned, “that we should leave. Like, right now.”

“And leave your friends and the feast?”

“Run away with me!” Max gripped my hand. “We can live off love alone!”

“But where will we live?” I gasped. “What will we eat?”

“We’ll live off the land,” Max grunted. “I’ll hunt! I can shoot a bow!”

“But the children.”

“Damn them!” Max shouted. “Curse you, offspring.”

“It was worth a try.” I patted his knee.

“Yeah.” He grabbed another shrimp and winked. “It really was.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

MAX

I liked Becca, not just a little bit. A lot. A lot. A lot. More and more I was hating the fact that I couldn’t do anything about it, meaning I couldn’t sneak off into the bushes and have my way with her. Not that I would do that in the first place because with my luck we’d roll around in poison ivy or something and I’d discover a rash that looked like an unfortunate case of the mumps on my favorite appendage.

I watched in dismay as my group of friends made their way around the tables, chatting up the girls, laughing with them, engaging in conversation I should have been engaging in. But I was rooted to my spot. I was rooted to her.

“You should probably make the rounds,” Becca suggested in a soft voice.

“Like a doctor,” I joked.

Becca rolled her eyes. “Yes, like a doctor.”

“Be my nurse?” I said in a low voice, eyeing her up and down.